Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Unseen that night. XXVI. Amang the brachens, on the brae, Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; But mist a fit, an' in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi' a plunge that night. XXVII. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, In wrath that night. * Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand if by chance in the clean water, the future hus. band or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid: if in the foul, a widow: if in the empty dish, it foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. XXVIII. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, Their sports were cheap an' cheery, Till butter'd sonst, wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin Fu' blythe that night. THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION ΤΟ HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to hansel in the New Year. A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie Out-owre the lay. Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper. Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glazie, A bonny gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, Ance in a day. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, As e'er tread yird; An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid father's meere; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma,' 'twas weel-won gear, When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, VOL. XXXVIII. For sic a pair. N Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, An' wintle like a saumont-coble, That day ye was a jinker noble, For heels an' win'! And ran them till they a' did wauble, Far, far bebin.' When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, An' tak the road! Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, An' gar't them whaizle: Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle O' saugh or hazel. Thou was a noble fittie-lan," On guid March-weather. Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, When frosts lay hang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labor back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap, Aboon the timmer; ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep For that, or simmer. In cart or car thou never reestit; But just thy step a wee thing hastit, My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a': Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw: Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The vera warst. Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, |